Welcome Home Ralph
by KatyRose4
Summary: Ralph returns home and everything is supposed to be fine, but he has a hard time coming to terms with what happened on the island. (Rated T for referencing murder.)


**Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Flies.**

"Ralph! Ralph!" His mother called out. The ship from the island was returning to England and an announcement had been put in the papers. _Shipwrecked Schoolboys Return Home After Nearly a Year._ She had the article in her hand, out and ready for him to see. But neither cared much for reading when they saw each other. The minute their eyes met, their arms soon followed, and Ralph found himself in a large hug. Both were crying. "Oh Ralph…I missed you so much."

He wanted to say, "I missed you too," but his mouth didn't open. His throat felt raw and he didn't feel like talking.

"I thought you were dead but then I saw the article and I was just so…it's so great for you to be back." Ralph couldn't find his words again. The mother and son made an odd pair. His sullen mood was a stark contrast to her clear overwhelming joy. "So what do you want to do? I've been planning a large dinner, but if you want to eat out, I don't mind spending the extra money. Well I suppose you'll eat anything though, huh? I'm sure it's better than the food of the island, is it not?" Ralph knew very well that she was joking but he couldn't help but give a large swallow. He didn't want to talk about the island. Not a single word about the island. Not a single word out of his mouth, even. Suspicious. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he replied. "Just tired." She was going to reprimand him for speaking in a fragment, but decided against it. The boy had been through a lot and it was not time for a lecture on grammar.

"Of course you are, silly me. Well let's go now. We should be going home." _Home_. It was more than just a place. It was a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. And the idea of it was as sweet as his favorite strawberry lollipops. His mother handed one to him as they walked, and he was glad he wasn't obligated to talk as he sucked on it. It kept him occupied all the way home, and when he finally got there he went into the first bed he saw, no questions asked. His mother didn't even bother to remind him that it was her room, not his, or that his cousins were expecting him, or that she had a hot meal on the table she didn't want to eat cold.

"Let the boy relax," she whispered to herself. "It's been a long time."

Ralph closed his eyes, but didn't sleep. Sleep was a luxury for the young Ralph, the innocent Ralph- the Ralph before the island. It felt surreal, in a way. He couldn't believe he was in a nice apartment in the city, on a bed, a _real_ bed. Surely it was only a dream, and if he slept, he would wake up, be back on the island, and it would just be a major disappointment. No, sleep was for the lucky ones. Sleep was for people that deserved it, and Ralph didn't deserve it. His life going back to normal was just a dream wait, no, a joke. But the murder was real.

He could almost hear Jack and the others chanting and screaming about killing the pig. And like the fool, and the dishonorable _coward_ he was, he joined in. He could imagine his father shaking his head, saying "A man must be brave, Ralph. If you see something wrong, you don't join in!" But he did. And he regretted it.

He could feel the moonlight on his face and smell the weird fruit from the trees. It felt so real, it was like he was back on the island…the island, his home. _That_ was where he belonged. He deserved to crash and burn for what he did. Killing Simon was definitely his fault. And wasn't Piggy's death his fault too? He saw the rock, he could've pushed Piggy out of the way. Or maybe if he had been a better leader, Jack and the others wouldn't have gone crazy and wouldn't have murdered people. He made too many mistakes. He should've been better about it. His father was a good leader and he was supposed to be the same. Instead, he screwed everything up.

"Just think, Ralph. If you had managed to keep me in line, that ship would've seen the fire. And then we would've been out a lot earlier. And no one would've died." The voice sounded eerily familiar. But it couldn't be…Couldn't be… "Everything is your fault." Ralph snapped his head around and screamed. It was Jack, for a split second. But then he shot out of bed. It had all been a dream. Of course it was only a dream. Jack lived on the other side of England and was probably headed home himself, miles and miles away.

"Ralph!" His mother burst in. She sat on the side of the bed, next to him. "What happened?"

"Uh, um…" he stammered. "Nightmare."

"Oh you poor baby." She gave him a hug. "It's all right, it's all right. Nothing is going to hurt you here." That wasn't what he was upset about. "Ick, you're sweaty." She wiped her hands. "I'll get you some water. Maybe you should go to your own bedroom, and change into more comfortable clothes. That will make you feel better." Nothing would help, and Ralph thought her delusional for thinking that. But he appreciated the effort. "But you can stay here if you want."

Ralph stood up, slowly, and made his way out the door. His usually light and springy footsteps were heavy, as if he wore ironclad shoes. The change concerned his mother a little, but he made it to the room anyway. It was just how he had left it. Back when his mother had believed that her son was dead, she had kept things preserved in his honor. Or so she said. Truth be told, she couldn't bear to touch anything there.

He opened up his drawer. The clothes had been moved around, but nothing removed. He had a large array of pajama shirts and pants to choose from. After being forced to wear a school uniform every day for years, picking an outfit became rather exciting. Whenever he got the chance, he would express his mood through the colors and cuts, comfort level, and whether it was considered a general 'favorite' or not. If he were away from his closet for long, he would pick his favorite outfit. But he felt that he didn't deserve his favorite outfit. He didn't want to wear any dark colors either, since that would make him even more upset. He couldn't wear light colors because it felt dishonest. The simple decision was agonizing and he spent nearly eleven minutes stressing out over it before eventually just picking the first shirt and pants that he saw. They didn't match but he didn't care. Thinking was tearing his mind to shreds and his heart was racing too fast. He had to take a moment to breathe. And then, in came the exhaustion. A powerful sleep consumed him and he collapsed onto his bed for the remainder of the night.

 **Author's Note:**

 **This was supposed to be the beginning to a larger story, but since I haven't written anything else and it works as stand alone, it will probably just stay like this. If I do write anything else, the title and the synopsis will change.**

 **And a thank you to my Global Lit teacher for introducing me to this book. :)**


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